


Love Like The Wolves

by chasingshadows



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective!Derek, Scott/Stiles brotp, Slow Burn, Stiles in danger, Young!Stiles, memories of childhood, sterek, teenage!Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingshadows/pseuds/chasingshadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek are trying to figure each other out while the Alpha Pack causes trouble in Beacon Hills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story in this fandom (and first fanfic ever). I would like to thank Kedreeva for the beta work!
> 
> NOTE: Yes, I know it is taking me forever to update, but I have been putting all thought and energy into my commissions from the SC Auctions, which have turned out to be more difficult than anticipated. However, this is NOT a forgotten story and will be updated as soon as possible. Thanks for sticking with me!!
> 
> SECOND NOTE: STILL NOT ABANDONED I SWEAR. I've actually been plotting out the next several chapters since I changed my intended storyline in a big way - or rather, the story started running off totally on its own and looking back at me like "Nana nana boo boo you can't catch me!" Needless to say it's taking some time to catch up :P
> 
> feel free to hit me up on [ twitter](https://twitter.com/chasingshhdws) (aka my feels palace) or on [my tumblr!](http://chasingshhadows.tumblr.com/)

Stiles was running. Again.

He thought back to several months ago, before Scott’s furry little problem started shedding all over his life. Before all the running. Sure, he ran suicides at lacrosse practice and had to occasionally make a quick exit from a crime scene he wasn’t supposed to be at before his dad or one of the deputies caught him, but that was normal. Fun, even, if he was in the right mood. But this running, running for his literal, actual _life_ , this was not fun. Not fun at all.

And yet, this kind of running was becoming alarmingly frequent in Stiles’ life. Ever since that first full moon, Stiles had been running from werewolves and kanimas and hunters and reality. Well, no, that last part was more figurative than literal and so what if he was because maybe he just wasn’t ready to deal with all of those feelings and memories just yet, but what the fuck ever, he was still running for his goddamn life. Again.

Stiles’ body was screaming at him, his lungs wheezing, his legs felt like they were about to fall off. His pulse pounded in his ears as listened, every twig snap and whisper of leaves causing the panic to rise in his bones, even though he knew the real threats were completely silent.

He didn’t know how he kept getting himself in these situations. It didn’t seem possible that so much bad luck could revolve around just one person. Though maybe it wasn’t so much bad luck as bad decision making. Maybe he shouldn’t have headed towards Lydia’s place and instead listened to Scott’s text and gone to the rail station.

A big, black bird flew down right into Stiles’ path, shrieking loudly at him, causing him to shriek back. He lost his pace for a second and pushed himself to go faster, even if it didn’t matter.

God, he felt like such a dumbass. Maybe avoiding the rail station kept him from having to deal with Erica, Boyd and Isaac’s annoyed huffs and glares, and Peter’s creepy staring and cryptic comments, and Derek . . . being Derek. But he was safe there and he was an idiot for forgetting that. For forgetting the danger. For forgetting how vulnerable he was.

A branch snapped loudly behind him, causing him to jump and he almost fell forward. The Alphas were definitely still there and wanted him to know it. Not that he could forget he was being chased through the woods by a pair of Alpha freaking werewolves that had run him off the road in the woods. Stupid werewolves.

His feet pounded the ground clumsily, slipping on leaves and tripping on roots, but somehow he kept himself upright. His breathing had become downright painful and his legs were starting to feel like jelly, but still he pushed himself faster, even though that dark voice in the back of his mind told him it was no use. He was weak and he was slow and it didn’t matter how hard he tried, how hard he fought. He was just a human.

Stiles thought back to when Derek finally told Scott and him about the Alpha pack. Well, Peter told them. Derek just stood there looking annoyed at the world; which of course just translated to stupidly attractive, though really anything Derek did just translated to stupidly attractive so there was no point in even differentiating but _no!_ He was not having this conversation with himself right now.

He racked his brain, trying to think of anything that would get him out of his current situation. Maybe he could make a weapon out of a large stick - though that would probably only piss them off. He could climb a tree – though they might just knock it down and Stiles wasn’t great with heights anyway.

God dammit. He’d done so much research, learned everything he possibly could about werewolves and pack dynamics, committed basic instinct and behavioral psychology to memory. None of it helped. Nothing they’d found had given them any indication to what the Alphas actually _wanted_.

Their actions made no sense and it bothered Stiles to no end that he couldn’t figure it out. There were so many pieces, but they all seemed to come from different puzzles. All they had to go on were rumors and the Latin inscriptions the Alphas had left behind every time they’d made a move.

Which had been why Stiles had planned to go talk to Lydia. Jackson had made it clear that none of the werewolves were to go anywhere near her after the attack and he pretty much spent every moment of every day at her side, which Stiles thought was just freaking adorable.

Since no one else had done anything, he’d taken it upon himself to go see her, seeing as Jackson had taken his exams early and left town for summer vacation. Human Stiles could totally handle the completely selfless task of spending Jackson-free time with Lydia. For the pack, of course. Well, the pack and then Scott and him. And kind of Allison, though she’d been really distant-bordering-on-avoidance for the past few weeks. Ever since the Gerard thing. Who they still hadn’t found.

Whoakay, one problem at a time. Stiles tried to focus on pulling breath into his lungs, which was becoming increasingly problematic. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep going. He’d been running for, what, 20 minutes already? He could tell he was already moving slower than before, but it’s not like the average person could keep up a full sprint for twenty minutes.

Werewolves, however, they could run forever. Stiles knew that the Alphas were just toying with him, trying to wear him down. They were Alpha werewolves and he was a clumsy teen. If they’d wanted to, they could’ve caught up to him within seconds.

Stiles dodged a tree in his path and stumbled over a fallen log, picking up his run on the other side. Breathing heavily, he dared a glance behind him that he instantly regretted. His foot caught on an exposed root and he went sprawling to the ground, his arms flying out in front of him in an attempt to break his fall. His entire left side slammed painfully into the ground and he suppressed the scream of frustration building in his throat. He’d just made their game a lot less fun. Angry tears burned in his eyes. He was useless; he couldn’t even give himself a fighting chance.

He took a deep breath and did a quick self-assessment. His whole left side felt achy and would probably bruise, but otherwise he sensed no major injuries. He could hear movement behind him, much slower than before and much louder.

Stiles rolled over and sat up, trying not to wince from the pain, but as he began to push himself off the ground, a growl from the shadows stopped him. He saw red eyes approaching, two separate sets about ten feet apart, slowly coming out of the shadows. Stiles watched carefully, noting that they were both male, both ridiculously large and built, enough to give Derek a run for his money.

Their faces were still wolfed out, but becoming more human-like as they got closer. They stopped when they were about ten feet away from Stiles, just far enough apart that Stiles couldn’t look at them both at once.

His breath was still wheezy and he glanced back and forth, trying to keep an eye out for any immediate danger. Other than the two scary-strong-as-humans-and-downright-terrifying-as-Alpha-werewolves standing before him, of course.  His eyes pinched together as he glanced back and forth again and again, confused. They both had the glowing red eyes and identical amused smirks on their faces. But that’s not why he was confused. As he took in both of their human forms, he realized. They were. . . they were _actually_ identical.

 _Twins?_ he thought incredulously.

Not just twins though. _Alpha_ twins. Brothers who were both Alphas. What the fu-

“Well hello Stiles,” the one of the right began, his voice silky smooth. Stiles’ head jerked in his direction, watching him. The Alpha tilted his head in what seemed to be curiosity but came off as just creepy. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Always great to meet a fan,” he spouted without thinking. “Sorry, but I’m not signing autographs today. You’ll have to come back another time.”

“Oh, it’s not your autograph we want,” the Alpha told him, his smirk growing to a lopsided grin that was annoyingly sexy.

“Well, I don’t have any tissues I’ve recently sneezed in and you’re sure as hell not getting my underwear, so you might as well just move along,” Stiles snarked back, knowing his words were ruined by the ridiculously loud pounding of his heart and his still panting breath.

“I like this one, Ethan,” said the Alpha to his left, his voice as seductive as his brother’s. Stiles head snapped towards him. “He’s got spunk.” The Alpha turned to look directly at Stiles, grinning. “It’ll be fun to beat it out of him.”

Stiles eyes grew wide, his mouth dropping open in terror, and for once no words came to him. He briefly contemplated trying to turn around and run again, but they would be on him before he even got to his feet and he was pretty sure werewolves had the same twitchy pouncing instinct that cats did.

There was a chuckle to his right and the first brother, Ethan, spoke, “Oh, Aiden, there’s no need to scare the boy. At least, not yet.”

Yes, thank you, Ethan, that was so reassuring.

Stiles heart was pounding in his throat, but he swallowed to push it back down, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice shaky, but clear.

Both brothers’ mouths broke into heart-breaker grins, with an edge of something like mischief in their identical eyes. They spoke in unison, voices blending together in a sultry, menacing tone. “You.”

Then, as if being pulled by the same wire, the brothers began to stalk forward, their movement an exact mirror of each other. Stiles had a brief moment to wonder at how often they practiced that before his flight instinct kicked in and he began to scramble backwards on hands and feet, flailing and slipping on the wet leaves. _Fuck_ , he was screwed. And not in the good way.

_Whoosh._

Stiles fell flat against the ground as a dark shape passed over him and landed in between his body and the Alpha twins. They stopped and fell into crouches, a chorus of growls and snarls erupting in the air.

Sitting up, he took in the dark form in front of him, the werewolf that stood between him and his enemies. A werewolf that he recognized, even though it was wolfed out and facing the other way, but it was not the one he would have expected.

 _Derek_.

There was a moment of suspense, all of them frozen in place. The Alpha twins and Derek all held identical positions, crouched down, fangs bared, one arm in front and one behind. Except Derek held something in his hand. Something small. . .

Derek roared in warning, loud and terrifying, and it left Stiles cowering back against the tree behind him, but the Alpha twins didn’t even flinch. His roar dropped down, low and throaty, and without breaking it, he spoke, “Leave.” His voice dripped with Alpha authority that even Stiles felt.

The first brother, Ethan, began to slowly rise out of his crouch, speaking through a tight smile, just loud enough to be heard over the rumble in Derek’s chest. “Well, well, Derek Hale. What exactly are _you_ doing here? This little stray doesn’t belong to you.” He threw an errant hand in Stiles’ general direction, still cowering against the tree behind Derek. Stiles flinched at the last words, not quite sure why they made him feel so raw.

"This is my land," Derek said. His voice was even, unemotional, but the thunder in Derek’s chest did not go away. "You’re on my territory. Leave," he demanded, his voice more dangerous than Stiles had ever heard it.

Aiden, the second brother, was still crouched, ready to pounce, and snarled, angry and forceful. “We don’t take orders from you,” he spat. His face was scrunched in anger and was slowly becoming wolf-like. Stiles saw the intent in the Alpha’s eyes and he moved without thinking, following an instinct to put himself between Derek and danger. Derek’s eyes caught the movement and he turned to Stiles, throwing out an arm to stop him, but the Alpha took advantage of their distraction and pounced.

Derek roared as Aiden sunk deep claws into his thigh. He yanked away, the Alpha’s claws digging out long gashes, and then slashed a handful of claws across the Alpha's chest, tossing him into a tree. Stiles watched the exchange with wide eyes, trying to keep up with their supernatural speeds.  Derek fell back towards Stiles, his thigh torn to shreds, but somehow he maintained a defensive position, keeping most of his weight off his ruined leg, still growling from deep in his chest. Stiles fought the urge to reach out, keeping a hand clenched painfully around a piece of bark from the tree at his back.

Ethan just stood by, watching with cautious eyes, seemingly unconcerned over his brother's injuries as he spoke, "Brother," he said evenly, not taking his eyes off of Derek and Stiles.

Aiden was clutching his chest, spewing out a mix of growling and cursing and looking ready to take another shot before his brother spoke. He backed down, crouching down near the tree, the attack draining from his eyes and the rumble in his throat quieted. His wounds were bleeding profusely, but still looked relatively shallow. Derek’s leg, on the other hand. . .

Ethan spoke again. "Now, Derek, you know this isn't a fair fight. It's two against one and we all know the boy is useless in a fight." He spoke without inflection, as if just stating a known fact, but it cut across Stiles like a slap to the face.

Ethan continued talking, directing his words at Derek alone, as if Stiles wasn't even there. "You're already injured and you have no backup. And that leg is going to bleed out if you don’t do something about it soon.” He paused, letting his words sink in for a moment. He took a step forward, his gait confident to the point of arrogance, no trace of hesitancy or fear.

“We’re not leaving without the human, and we didn’t come here to kill you,” Ethan continued, voice growing dark.

Aiden smiled as Ethan crouched down and said in a low voice, “But we will if we have to.”

Stiles saw Derek’s fist clench and he ducked, closing his eyes, and slamming his fists over his ears. He didn’t see the Alpha twins pounce or Derek throw the flash bomb into the air directly in front of them. He did, however, see the world glow red behind his eyelids and hear the BOOM that reverberated through his entire body. He also felt, just a millisecond too late, the warm pressure of Derek’s body thrown over him, elbows tucked on either side of his shoulders as he tried to shield Stiles while covering his own ears.

As the ringing faded from Stiles’ ears, he felt Derek pull back and heard the painful roaring of the Alpha twins. He opened his eyes to see them both thrown against trees and clutching at their ears and eyes. Their screams filled the air, but another howl caught his attention.

Derek had fallen backwards, both hands wrapped around his wounds, slipping on the outpouring of blood.

“Dammit, Stiles, get over here,” Derek growled. His face had morphed from its monstrous wolf form back into its usual broody one and Stiles sincerely hoped that it was the fading light making him look so pale. The blood poured from between Derek's fingers and if Stiles hadn't seen him survive worse, he'd have been sure Derek was done for.

“Wha-Why are _you_ here?” he asked, rising and moving towards Derek. He turned back, glancing at the twins as he moved. They were both on the ground, eyes slammed shut and clutching at their ears. He thought he saw a trickle of blood from Ethan’s right ear and wondered if the bomb had actually blown their ear drums. Stiles turned back to Derek when he reached him, trying to make sense of the mess of jean and flesh and blood that was Derek’s leg.

“Later,” Derek said in a harsh whisper. He released his leg, the blood flowing freely again, and pushed off the ground, speaking as he moved. “We need to move _now_ , before they heal.”

He held a bloody arm out to Stiles and Stiles didn’t even hesitate to grab it, helping pull Derek up and slinging it over his shoulder. Derek threw his head to the left. “There,” he said. “That tree. We need to get there.”

Stiles spotted a large, sturdy looking oak tree, about twice as thick as all the ones around it, about twenty feet away. He and Derek moved quickly, but Derek was leaning more heavily on Stiles as they got closer to the tree. Stiles was trying not to worry, but Derek wasn’t even as warm as usual, almost down to normal human temperature.

When they got to the tree, Derek dropped down and started feeling around the dense above-ground root system, pulling and tugging, leaving blood trails on everything he touched. Stiles could still hear the Alphas and was about to ask how long they had, when he heard a whooshing noise. He jerked his head towards where Derek was looking and noticed a large, inky black hole in the ground about five feet from the tree base.

“What the-“ His eyes widened as he realized what had happened. “Oh my God, that’s so cool!”

“Shut up and help me,” Derek demanded, but there was none of the force he’d had just moments before.

Still, Stiles didn’t like being bossed around, not even by sexy Alpha werewolves who saved his life. “Watch the tone, wolfie. You could at least say please.” Derek stopped trying to stand and glared at Stiles, a look he received often, but still wasn’t quite immune to. “Or not,” he mumbled, reaching out to help Derek stand. They stumbled over to the edge of the square-shaped hole, just wide enough for someone Derek’s size to fit down.

There was a ladder against the edge and what looked to be at least an eight foot drop, though Stiles couldn’t be certain because the light didn’t reach the bottom.

Derek pulled himself away from Stiles and dropped to the ground. He jerked his head towards the hole. “Climb down.”

“What? Why me?” Stiles protested. “You’re the big bad Alpha werewolf; you can go first into the creepy hidden cave.”

“It’s not a cave, it’s a tunnel system.”

“Oh good, more hiding places for things that could _eat_ me,” Stiles retorted.

“Stiles, just because I’m bleeding doesn’t mean I can’t still _kill_ you,” Derek spat angrily.

But Stiles didn’t need to be a werewolf to know the threat bordered on lie. He didn’t know why Derek was here exactly, but he knew he was in no danger with the Alpha. So Stiles met Derek’s eyes and said with more confidence than he’d felt in a long time, “You’re not going to kill me.” 

He saw Derek’s eyebrows rise as he dropped down so that his feet were dangling, and climbed down as quickly as he could. It was a little deeper than he’d thought, closer to ten feet with a ceiling about six feet high. When his feet hit solid ground, he looked up and saw Derek swing down into the hole and catch his good leg on the ladder rungs. Using his supernatural arm strength, he hobbled down the ladder, stopping only to reattach the cover of the hole, blocking out all light and noise, including that of the still-howling-in-pain Alpha twins. Stiles had underestimated how much damage had been done to their over-active senses.

Stiles couldn’t see anything, but Derek could, so when he felt the heavy arm drop down across his shoulders, he wrapped his arm around the attached waist and led Derek in the direction his was leaning, letting him drop down against the wall.

Stiles wiped the blood off his hand onto his jeans, then shoved his hand into this pocket to retrieve his phone. He thumbed the screen, turning on the flashlight and quickly looking around himself for the first time.

The tunnel was about as wide as it was tall, almost perfectly carved out of the earth. The section they were in ended after about fifteen feet, connecting with another tunnel running perpendicular.

He turned back to Derek, who was sitting down against the wall at his feet, bent over himself trying to hold his wounds together. He looked deathly pale, worse even than when Kate had gotten him with one of her wolfsbane bullets.

“Wait, what’s wrong? Shouldn’t you be doing your werewolfy mojo thing and healing?” Stiles asked, trying to keep the real concern he felt from leaking too thickly into his voice.

“I am,” Derek said, breathing heavily. “I will. But not as fast. Wounds from an Alpha take longer to heal.” He was taking deep, painful-sounding breaths between each sentence and Stiles was suddenly _very_ concerned.

“Wait, so, what, he was right? You’re going to bleed out?” His voice rose and he felt his heart beat rising in his chest, beating against his ribs.

Derek huffed. “No, I’m not. Come here and hold this,” he ordered, not even looking at Stiles.

“Hold – what?” Stiles asked, not understanding.

Derek looked up at him, exasperated. “Hold _this_. My leg. I need you to come here and hold the wounds together.”

Stiles looked at the gruesome mess that was Derek’s leg. “What for? You seem to be doing a pretty decent job.”

“Just do it!”

Stiles sighed and placed his phone on the ground, light pointing up. He crouched down in front of Derek, straddling his injured leg, and met his eyes for a brief second.  He nodded, and then reached his arms out to replace Derek's as they moved away. His left hand slid in between Derek's thighs over the blood-soaked jeans, slipping on the slick blood flowing down his inner thigh. His other hand gripped the outer curve of the leg and he pressed his hands together, trying to close the almost foot-long gashes that ran along the front of Derek's thigh. He felt Derek cringe in pain, but no noises slipped out. His hands were covered in blood in seconds and he tried not to think about his close his hand was to some very sensitive areas.

As soon as his hands were free, Derek slid his leather jacket off, not seeming to care that he was getting blood all over it. Then he crossed arms over his front and pulled his henley off.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Stiles said, no longer able to ignore the proximity with a half-naked Derek just inches from his face. "What are you doing that for?"

Derek paused with hands gripping one edge of the shirt, giving Stiles a significant look as his muscles tensed and the shirt began to rip. _Oh_.

"Cause you're going to. . . and that'll hold it. . . yeah, that makes more sense," Stiles rambled, trying very hard to focus and keep his thoughts and eyes away from Derek's strong, hard chest, the cut lines of his abs, the perfect V accenting his hip bones. Tried not to remember how those strong arms felt around him. And he was failing, if the tightening in his jeans was any indication.

Stiles started to panic when, while continuing to rip his shirt to shreds, Derek's nostrils flared and his eyes flickered to Stiles’ for a fraction of a second. Please, Stiles thought desperately, _please_ don't let him be able to smell _that_. He’d once asked Scott if he could smell arousal and now he was really hoping that wasn’t true.

Derek said nothing, just continued to rip until his shirt was nothing but shreds. He grabbed one and Stiles adjusted as he threaded it under and in between his legs. He tied it tightly just above the wounds like a tourniquet, then reached for the widest strip, one of the sleeves.

Stiles pulled his hands back when Derek wrapped the sleeve around his leg, completely covering the deepest parts of the gashes, tying it underneath. Stiles pushed himself away, leaning against the opposite wall and saying nothing while Derek worked, trying to think of boring western novels, getting sick and Mr. Harris. An ache was starting to build in his body, throughout the entire left side, as the adrenaline wore off and his fall in the woods was starting to make itself known.

When Derek was done, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. Stiles could tell he was listening and was about to ask when Derek held up a bloody finger to silence him. Derek listened for a moment longer, then pushed himself off the wall and stood up, his leather jacket clenched in his left hand.

Stiles started, surprised. “Going somewhere?” he asked incredulously, trying to keep his voice somewhat low.

Derek was leaning against the wall, looking down at him. “We need to move farther in.” He began hopping away, leaning heavily against the wall.

“Why?” Stiles asked, worried that Derek had heard something. He wiped his hands off on his jeans and grabbed his phone, pointing the light up at the older man as he stood.

Derek paused and turned back. “They’ll be able to track us, with my blood all over the woods.” He started to turn again, before catching the panicked look in Stiles’ eyes. “They won’t be able to get down here, but I don’t want to be near the door.” He turned back around and continued hopping down the tunnel, giving pain-filled grunts when his left leg touched the ground.

Stiles sighed, exasperated, and caught up to him, phone clenched in his left hand, flashlight still on. He reached out and grabbed Derek’s arm, throwing it over his shoulders and wrapping an arm around Derek’s back, supporting his weight. Derek turned and his multi-colored eyes stared intensely at Stiles for just a moment, giving him chills.

They both started to move deeper into the tunnel. When they reached the fork, Derek led them to the right and they continued for another twenty feet or so before Derek motioned for Stiles to stop.

Stiles lowered Derek down to sit against the right side of the wall, injured leg extended across the tunnel floor, and Stiles settled himself down against the left side.

“What now?” he asked, leaning his head back against the wall, forearms resting on his knees.

Derek took a couple of breaths before answering. “Now. . . we wait.”

“For?” Stiles prodded. “Do you even have a plan? And would you mind explaining what the hell this place is?” 

Derek sighed, eyes closing. Stiles was about to press more, but then he watched as Derek’s eyes flicked upwards and he placed a finger over his mouth.

Stiles eyes widened, his heart pounding against his ribs painfully, like it was trying to break free. He listened intently, but heard nothing more than his own breathing. All sounds from the forest above were blocked out by the four feet of solid earth above them.

But he knew Derek could hear, his werewolf ears so much more sensitive than Stiles’ human ones. The Alpha had closed his eyes again, head tilted slightly and Stiles wasn’t sure he was even breathing.

Several minutes passed, Stiles growing more and more impatient. He started to fidget, never able to sit still for very long, but Derek ignored him, just listening, shoulders and neck tight with tension.

Finally, he relaxed, eyes opening and shoulders dropping down as he took a deep breath. He looked across to Stiles. “They’re gone,” Derek assured him, letting his head lean against the wall at his back.

Derek looked around, eyes flicking back and forth around the cave, before he closed them again, breathing deeply in and out of his nose.

After a couple minutes of watching this and working to calm himself down, Stiles turned off the light from his cell phone and turned off the service, since it was useless down here, before shoving it into his pocket. He pulled his knees in, wincing as the pain spiked across his whole side, wrapping arms around them and resting his chin on his forearms, careful to keep pressure off his bruised left arm.

His thoughts were racing, processing, trying to make sense of what had happened. His thoughts were erratic and all over the place. Flashes of the twins and running through the forest and the flash bomb were juxtaposed with memories. Lying with Derek on the station floor, that day with Derek in the pool, Derek hiding out in his room, holding a saw to Derek’s arm. And then older, darker memories, memories that hurt. Something Ethan said kept replaying in his ear, over and over.

_This little stray doesn’t belong to you._

“Why?” he asked suddenly.

“Hmm?” Derek barely seemed to be paying attention.

“You risked your life back there, threw yourself between me and two Alpha werewolves. Why did you do it? . . . Why are you _here_ , Derek?” Stiles asked, the softness of his voice unable to disguise the urgency of his questions. His heart was beating in his throat as he spoke.

For a time, Derek did not answer, and Stiles wondered if he was still conscious. They simply sat in silence, listening to each other breath.

Eventually, though, Derek spoke, avoiding those questions by answering another. “These tunnels were built by my family,” he started, voice growing tight over the last word. “Almost a thousand years ago, back when this area was first being settled by humans.” Stiles couldn’t see in the darkness, but he felt Derek’s eyes on him.

“Why?” he prompted, sensing his participation was needed to continue the conversation.

Derek sighed. “They came here, and they saw what we could do, what we were, and they made it their mission to destroy us. Back then, werewolves weren’t just myths or scary stories for children. They were just as real as they are to you and me.” Derek took a deep breath. “And they wanted my family dead because we were different, because unlike you, they were scared.”

Derek’s voice was heavy, like it was painful to talk about this, hurt to think about. Stiles didn’t miss the veiled compliment, but was sidetracked by the realization that, after all this time, the humans had finally succeeded in destroying the Hale family. Derek was the last one. Well, him and his crazy, formerly-dead uncle.

“So these tunnels. . .”

“Were built for protection,” Derek spat bitterly. “My family had to hide themselves away every full moon to stop themselves from attacking, from giving into the bloodlust when the humans came to hunt.”

“They were werewolves; couldn’t they have just killed them all so they didn’t have to do that?” Stiles asked, honestly trying to understand.

Derek paused. “Yes,” he acknowledged.

Stiles let that sink in. A flash of hatred burned in him for the hunters. He’d seen what a crazy Alpha could do, sure, but other than a few bruises, mostly to his ego, the werewolves in his life had never seriously threatened him. They’d protected him more often than not and, as he just learned, had been doing what they could to keep humans safe for almost a thousand years – to the point of building what Stiles assumed was a labyrinth of tunnels beneath the forest, just so the humans wouldn’t be in danger on a full moon.

He just couldn’t understand why the hunters were so dead set on wiping them out, on treating them like nothing more than wild animals. Stiles jaw tensed in anger. He opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t even sure what, when Derek spoke.

"We need you," Derek said, cutting into Stiles' train of thought, confusing him before he realized what Derek was referring to. That was definitely _not_ the response he’d expected. Not that he really expected anything. He wasn’t even sure if Derek remembered . . .

Stiles waited a moment, but Derek did not continue.

"For what?" Stiles asked harshly. "Target practice? Or am I just a wonderful example to your pack of what _not_ to do? You heard the Alpha back there; I'm useless in a fight and it's not like my mouth ever does me any favors. So aside from my uncanny ability to find trouble, I don't really see how I benefit your little operation."

Derek sighed, as if he'd been hoping Stiles wouldn't want explanation, would just take his answer for what it was. He should have known better.

"You're smarter than any of my wolves are, braver and you take things in stride." Derek's voice was low, but for once Stiles’ brain focused, listening in silence. "You don't panic, not once in the time I’ve known you.” He paused for a second, taking a deep breath. “You-you have incredible self-control, other than your mouth, of course. . . You can’t do some of the things we can do, but in some ways,” Derek voice dropped even lower and Stiles wasn’t quite sure he heard the next part right, “that’s what makes you so valuable.”

Derek sounded surprised to be saying the words, like he didn’t realize he felt that way. Stiles could think of nothing to say at first, his brain running a million miles a minute, trying to process everything that had happened.

“Thank you,” he said finally, sincerity laced thickly into his tone. “For everything. I don’t know where I’d be right now if you hadn’t shown up, but I can’t imagine it would’ve been pleasant.”

“You’re part of my pack, Stiles,” Derek said without hesitation. “And I protect my own.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Derek couldn’t stop staring.

There was no light in the tunnel, but Derek’s eyes could still make out Stiles’ profile. The shape of his shoulders, loose, relaxed. The slope of the back of his neck, the gentle way he was draped over his knees.  The point of his nose, the shape of his soft lips still being moistened by the flick of his tongue even in sleep.

Derek just watched him and listened to him breathe, trying to parse through all the thoughts in his head and the feelings in his bones. They’d been in the tunnel for two or three hours. Stiles had fidgeted, played with his phone until it died, and tried to get Derek to talk – to no avail – and then paced around for some time. Derek worried at first, after noticing how careful Stiles was being, favoring his right side, wincing when he moved, but he could smell no open wounds and there didn’t seem to be any permanent damage.

And then Stiles finally sat down about half an hour ago, falling asleep so fast it was obvious he was crashing from the adrenaline that Derek could smell slowly leaving his system.

So Derek just spent the time staring, trying to quell the rage he felt and make sense of everything else he was feeling. His blood burned in anger at the Alphas, but for once he could not understand the anger. He had not felt this way when the Alphas had returned Erica and Boyd to him, beaten and emotionally scarred. He had not felt this when Lydia had gotten in the way of their attack on Jackson and was once again bitten. Of course he’d been angry, but not like this.

But Derek knew the answer to why this was different, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself. He’d known the answer ever since he met the kanima and his first thought was not how to defeat it, not even how to get away; his first thought was making sure Stiles was safe. The answer was the boy sitting across from him, breathing.

The sight of him sleeping, the sound of his breathing, the way his long limbs fit together – it all sent memories hurling through Derek’s mind. His thoughts flashed back, back before everything went wrong. Before Kate, before the fire. He clung to those memories like they were his last breath, but in this moment just one stood out clearer than the others.

When Derek was 15, his mother had taken him with her to a funeral. She’d told him, in the car, that the woman who’d died was a childhood friend of hers, someone she’d grown up with.

“Do you remember when you were younger?” she’d asked softly, “Claudia would watch you and Cora during the full moon, while the rest of us ran.”

Derek had nodded slowly, thinking back several years. “I remember,” he told his mom. “She would make us hot cocoa and we’d watch a movie.” He half-smiled; the memories had gotten fuzzy over the years, but certain things stood out. “Right before bed, she’d take me outside and we would sit on the back porch so I could listen to the howling.” He blinked, and then looked over to his mom. “Wait, she knew, didn’t she?”

His mom gave a sad smile. “Yes, she did.”

“Dad says never to tell a human, unless they were family. It’s too dangerous.”

His mom still smiled, the sun making her cheeks and her dark hair shine, and she looked so beautiful, he thought. But then a tear slipped down from the corner of her eye and began to slide down her cheek, its track glowing in the sunlight.

“Your father and I have different definitions of family.”

They were silent for several minutes. Derek wasn’t used to seeing his mom look sad and he didn’t want to say anything to make it worse. He stretched his hand across the center console and took hers, squeezing tight. She squeezed back and her smile stretched infinitesimally.

“I wish you could have gotten to know her better. When she met John and got married, she decided it was safer if she kept her distance from our family, afraid he would see or hear something he shouldn’t. He’s a deputy at the Sheriff’s department,” she explained, looking over at him for a second.

Derek’s eyes scrunched together briefly, thinking. “You still see her, don’t you?” he asked softly. “That’s where you go every month.”

Her hand tightened and he belatedly realized his mistake. There would be no more monthly visits.

“Yes, Derek, she and I kept in touch.” She paused, eyes closing briefly, releasing more tears. “She was my best friend.”

When they got to the cemetery, there was already a crowd of people. Derek and his mother hovered at the edge, her eyes locked on the casket, and Derek reached to grab her hand again. He looked around, recognizing some people from town, but most were strangers. His eyes picked out a pair of them, standing in the center of the crowd. The man was tall and carried a presence, but Derek felt sad looking at him. He looked broken, shoulders slumped, eyes hollow. He was staring, just like Derek’s mother, at the casket before him, tears falling freely down his cheeks.

Derek’s eyes traveled down, following the man’s arm to where it wrapped tightly around a set of shoulder’s that looked entirely too tiny. The boy that was clinging to the man’s side looked . . . empty. He stared off, not seeming to be looking at anything in particular, and no tears were upon his cheeks.

Derek realized at once that this must be Claudia's family, the resemblance in the boy’s features unmistakable even with Derek’s fuzzy memory. The high cheekbones, pointy nose and most of all the soft, gentle lips that stuck out in a way that would be awkward if it wasn’t so pretty. He felt his heart clench in his chest just looking at them, imagining their pain. He stared at the little boy, whose body looked no older than 6 or 7, though his mother had told him in the car that Claudia's son was 9. Derek almost didn’t believe it, but it was in the face and eyes, especially the eyes, that he looked older.

Derek squeezed his mother’s hand, not taking his eyes off the little boy. She squeezed back, and then let go to wrap her arm around his shoulders.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she said, pressing lips to his forehead. He felt the wetness of her cheek and his eyes stung.

The funeral began and Derek barely listened as the minister and family and friends spoke of the dead woman’s kindness and heart. He just couldn’t tear his eyes away from the little boy, who also seemed like he wasn’t listening.

When it was his father’s turn to speak, the little boy clung to him and tripped as they walked, only held up by the tight arm around his shoulders. The boy was still just staring, still clinging, when they reached the other side of the casket, facing the crowd.

When the man began to speak, the boy seemed to come back to himself a bit, eyes focusing just a little, looking around. His eyes, beautifully brown, almost amber or gold colored, found Derek’s, still staring at him. He took in the sight of Derek’s mother’s arm around his shoulders, the identical shape of their faces, the same shiny, black hair. He took it in and when the tears began to fall silently down his cheeks, Derek knew it wasn’t because of the pain-filled and sob-broken words his father was speaking. He knew the boy was crying because Derek was with his mother and he never would be again.

Derek’s jaw clenched, his eyes burning again, but he held back the tears. This was not his pain, not his loss.

After the man was done speaking, he reached down to pick up the boy, carrying him back to the crowd. The tiny child wrapped arms around his neck, but he was still watching Derek and Derek still watched him.

The minister said a few more words and when the casket began to be lowered down, the arm around Derek tightened and his mother let out a soft sob. He wrapped both arms around her waist and leaned his head into her shoulder. Her chin rested on his head and he felt the wetness of her tears, the racking of her body, but still he didn’t let himself cry, eyes still on the boy, who had buried his head in his father’s chest and was openly sobbing.

The crowd broke up, with instructions to meet back at the Stilinski home for food. As they were leaving, Derek turned back to read the headstone for the first time. It read “Claudia Stilinski. 1968-2003. Beloved Mother, Wife, Daughter. “ _Life is best lived when one learns to love like the wolves – passionate and kind and evermore._ ”

The Stilinski home was quiet, despite the large number of people. As they moved around the crowd, feeling awkward and out of place, Derek’s eyes took in the pictures hung upon the walls. The stark contrast between the smiling and happy family of the photos with the grief-stricken father and son in the living room made Derek feel uncomfortable. He just wanted to get away, to run from that kind of pain.

But he stayed next to his mother’s side, following her as she walked right into the living room. He could see it in her eyes. She wanted to meet them, the two most important people in her best friend’s life, of whom she had heard so much but never gotten to meet.

As soon as they walked into the living room, the father, John, had zeroed in on his mother’s face. He stared at her a moment, then got up from his seat on the arm of a chair and walked over to them, crowd parting for him. His son was curled into himself in the chair, his eyes following his father.

“It’s you,” the man said when he reached them. “I saw you at the hospital,” he told her, voice cracking on the last word. “You two just looked so close; I knew it as soon as I saw . . . You’re the friend, the one she went to see but wouldn’t talk about?” he asked, his voice more clear than it had been all day.

Derek’s mother smiled. “Yes, I am. I’m Talia. I’ve heard so much about you, John. And Stiles,” she added, glancing at the boy in the chair who was watching them intensely with those pretty brown eyes. “Claudia, she – god, she just loved you so much.” 

At that, the deputy reached out, throwing arms around her shoulders. She hugged him back and they just stood there for a long while, two people who had just experienced the same loss sharing their pain. Derek glanced back to the chair to find it empty and his eye caught the back door as it closed quietly.

Without really understanding why, Derek left his mother and followed, walking out the back door. No one paid him any attention, and no one seemed to notice that the boy had left. When he got outside, he followed the boy’s scent into the woods and found him behind a large tree just out of sight of the house.

He was curled into a ball at the base of the tree, looking so small, so incredibly tiny and fragile, like a single word would break him. Without a word, Derek sat down beside him, wrapped arms around his shoulders and knees and just held him. The boy – Stiles, his mom had called him – wasn’t crying and something about that made Derek’s heart break. When Stiles pulled his arms from his legs to crawl into Derek’s lap and wrapped arms around Derek’s chest, Derek adjusted his arms, lifting a hand to hold the boy’s head against him.

They sat like that for a long time, long enough for Derek to be surprised that no one was looking for them. Long enough for Stiles to fall asleep, his breath slowly settling to an even rhythm. Derek sat there, leaning against the tree and listening to the fluttery-fast heartbeat. He breathed Stiles’ scent in and noticed the tingly feeling in his hand before he saw the veins turn black. _Headache_ , he thought. Derek was suddenly happy that he was the one who’d found Stiles.

“Derek,” he heard his mother say from inside the house. “John’s about to find his son’s room empty.”

Derek listened and heard footsteps down a narrow hallway and the opening of a door. “Stiles? Stiles, where are you?” John’s voice got louder at the end and Derek took that as his queue. He stood slowly, being careful not to wake the almost weightless boy in his arms, and walked back to the house. He carried Stiles in tight arms, squeezing him close to control the swaying of his long, dangly legs.

His mother was at the door, holding it open as she called back into the house. “Found him, John. He’s okay.” She smiled at Derek as he came through the door, careful not to bump any part of Stiles’ tiny body on the frame.

John came into view at the end of the hall, eyes wide and frantic as he rushed forward “Stiles!” he yelled, reaching for his son. Derek handed him over easily and still only half-conscious the little boy wrapped his arms around his father’s neck. Before John even opened his mouth to ask, Derek’s mother spoke, pulling Derek towards her by his shoulders.

“John, this is my son, Derek. He found Stiles in the woods when he went out for some air.” Her tone turned affectionate on her next words, “Claudia said he used to do that a lot, go out into the woods by himself.”

John nodded, still looking at Derek. “Yeah, it was a big problem, before –“ his words cut off, but Derek could hear them anyway, hung upon the air. _Before she got sick_. _Before our lives were flipped upside down._

Derek’s mother rushed to cover the silence. “Claudia used to watch Derek and my youngest daughter for me, when they were little.” She squeezed Derek’s shoulders when she felt him tense. He was worried, he realized, about how this man was going to react to him.

John’s eyes raked over him, settling on his face. Finally, he nodded. “It’s good to meet you Derek.” He adjusted his arms so that he could offer a hand to Derek while still holding his sleeping son. Derek took it and spoke for the first time since before the funeral.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said, throat dry but words clear. His jaw tightened and he tried to convey with his eyes just how much he meant it.

The deputy nodded. “Thank you. You worry about your mom, though. Take care of her,” he told Derek.

Derek nodded. “I will,” he promised.

John nodded once, and then turned his gaze to Derek’s mother. “I’m gonna take him to bed.” It was then that Derek realized that there was no one else there. He had missed the cars leaving, the emptying of the full house. Derek and his mother were the only outsiders left.

Derek felt his mother nod behind his shoulder. “Alright. We’ll head home. It was – it was so nice to finally meet you, John,” she said, her voice cracking.

John’s lips pressed together and he tilted his head to her. “Same to you. Really – it, it answered a lot of questions.”

When they were at the door and John and Stiles were headed toward his room, he’d heard it. It was faint, said so softly it was obvious he wasn’t fully awake, but it was clear. “Thank you, Derek.” It was the first time Derek heard the boy’s voice and he turned back to look at him. John was glancing between Stiles and Derek, eyebrows scrunched together.

Derek had felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder and he straightened up, shoulders back. “You’re welcome, Stiles,” he said.

Derek came back to himself slowly, falling out of the memory and back in the tunnel with Stiles, who slept just as deeply as he had 8 years ago. He continued to watch him, breathe in his scent and listen to his even breathing, the fluttery-fast beat of his heart.

There was something about _him_ , something that Derek didn’t understand, that drew him in. Ever since he’d first seen him next to his father at the funeral, mourning the death of half of his family, and held his tiny body against his own, holding him together when Stiles’ life was falling apart. It was like he was magnetic, a force he could fight but would never fully be free from. Something about this kid just felt _important_.

And that was why he was so ragingly angry, why when he’d found Stiles’ Jeep on the side of the road, his scent mixed with two others, others that had also been all over Erica and Boyd, he hadn’t even thought. He just ran.

And that was why it confused Derek, scared him really, that scent he’d caught on Stiles earlier. There were times when Derek couldn’t quite separate the Stiles before him now with that little boy, and that was one of them. In that moment, he couldn’t get the image of that tiny, fragile little creature, that young little boy out of his head, even as he smelled the very mature arousal coming from his teenage body.

It didn’t seem right, because Stiles was so important and all Derek seemed to be able to do was destroy the important things in his life. The idea of Stiles being attracted to him, drawn closer into his life, terrified him. He was still so young, still fragile and still beautiful.

Derek flexed his leg, felt the healed muscles and flesh. He sliced a claw through the bloodied pieces of his shirt, taking a look at the skin beneath the tattered strips of his jeans. The skin was red, still warm to the touch, but all the major damage had healed in the hours since the attack. He would be completely healed before the end of the night.

Which, fuck, it had to be nighttime already and Stiles had been for all intents and purposes missing since after school. Derek sighed and stood, grabbing his jacket. He crossed the tunnel, bent down to shake Stiles’ shoulder to wake him and – just couldn’t. Not when he looked like this, so similar to that sad little boy.

He sighed and laid the jacket across Stiles’ shoulders, crouching down next to him. He slid one arm under Stiles’ knees and the other behind his shoulders and then stood, being ever so careful and gentle so that Stiles didn’t wake up. He didn’t, just rolled his head onto Derek’s shoulder, murmuring a moment before settling against Derek’s body. Derek marveled at how not different this was from 8 years ago. Stiles still weighed almost nothing and still slept soundly through the movement, long legs still dangling. Derek squeezed him close, veins in his hands blackening as Derek leached the pain from the left side of Stiles’ body.

Derek carried Stiles through the tunnels he’d memorized as a kid. When he was about a mile from where he’d started, he stopped a moment. He was standing at the intersection of two tunnels. If he went left, it would take him about a half mile to get to an exit beneath another tree, just outside of town and he would have to wake Stiles up to climb. Right, and it would take him almost two more miles to the hidden opening in the slope of the river bank, the one with no ladder. He glanced down at Stiles, whose lips were forming silent words in his sleep. He went right.

 He just walked, focusing on the sights and sounds and smells coming from Stiles. His breath was hot on Derek’s neck, and when Derek tripped on an unexpected rock and jostled Stiles’ body, the teen’s hands reached out, one lying flat against Derek’s bare chest and slowly sliding back down, doing strange things to Derek’s body. He was careful not to trip after that.

Derek left the tunnel near the river, easily flipping the lever to open the exit built into the rocky slope. The night was chilly, but Derek didn’t feel it, even without his shirt. He carried Stiles up across the sharp rocks, and followed the river out to the road. As he carried Stiles home, keeping to the shadows so they wouldn’t be seen, his thoughts fell back again. He wasn’t sure what prompted this memory, a much darker one, one he’d tried to bury.

There had been just one other time he’d seen Stiles before that day in the woods with Scott. On the worst day of his life.

Derek was sitting in the police station, sitting in a chair with his forearms pressing into his thighs, head facing down, staring at the tiles. Laura was across the room, talking to the Sheriff, some guy Derek had never seen before. His family had always avoided law enforcement, done their best to never need to deal with them.

Angry tears stung in his eyes and his jaw clenched, pushing them back. He didn’t get to cry today. He did this. This was his fault. He killed them. All of them. He didn’t get to cry.

His nostrils flared when he caught the scent and his head jerked up. Derek’s eyes found him immediately. Stiles looked older, grown from much more than just the year and a half that had separated their meetings. He stood taller, his shoulders back. He looked tougher, but he was still small and still fragile.

And he was staring at Derek with those eyes, the same bright, golden eyes that bordered on supernatural in color. They were different this time, harder as they watched Derek from across the room. He was standing next to his father, who had come into the room and walked over to where Laura and the Sheriff stood. But Stiles wasn’t paying any attention to them and neither was Derek. They were just watching each other and for a moment Derek forgot why he was there.

And then the word _fire_ reached him from the conversation and it all hit him again. He dropped his eyes from the boy, head sinking down in silent shame. They were all gone. Every last one of them burned alive and it was all his fault. He swallowed down the guilty lump in his throat, trying not to think of his mother’s smile or his father’s laugh or his baby cousin’s sweet little coos. It hurt, all of it hurt and it wouldn’t stop. It was never going to stop and that was okay because he deserved it.

Derek hadn’t noticed that the scent had gotten stronger, closer, but he noticed when the boy sat down in the chair next to him and threw arms around his body, laying his head against Derek’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything, just breathed, and Derek got the impression that he was just a quiet kid.

Part of him wanted to pull away, reject the comfort. Because he knew he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve any comfort or happiness ever again.

But when he looked over to the face against his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, pretty lips pursed, long arms tight around Derek’s back and chest, that part of him shut up. Because this little boy needed this just as much as Derek did. Because the last time they’d met, Stiles had just lost his mother and Derek still had his. But now . . . now that had changed.

So Derek finally let himself cry. Hot tears ran down his cheeks as his breathing matched to Stiles’, and they just sat there together as Derek mourned the loss of his entire family. The loss of his childhood and innocence. The loss of himself.

No one bothered them, though the station was a bustle of people, all moving around and being loud. But Derek blocked it out, focusing instead on Stiles’ heartbeat and his breath. It was easy, almost familiar in a way that didn’t hurt.

It wasn’t until Laura and John came over to them that they separated. Stiles’ father had come over and said something, Derek didn’t remember what, and pulled the child from Derek’s side. He felt exposed, naked, as he watched the deputy hold his son and look upon him with pity. He realized right then that he hated pity.

But then he looked into the child’s eyes, those warm, brown eyes that belonged to neither of his parents and he didn’t see pity. Because Stiles didn’t pity Derek; Stiles understood him. And in that moment Derek realized that Stiles was the same, that for some reason Derek didn’t understand, Stiles blamed himself for his mother’s death.

The guilt in Stiles’ eyes was as unmistakable as he knew it must be in his own. This time Stiles didn’t cling to his father. He pushed off until the deputy let him down, until he stood next to his father. He looked Derek in the eye for a moment, then reached forward and wrapped his arms around Derek one more time, hugging him until Derek wrapped his own arms around the tiny body.

He squeezed tighter and Derek squeezed back. They were just two boys who’d lost their moms, moms who’d loved each other and loved them, and they held on to that, like it was all they had left.

And then, just before he’d pulled away, Stiles had turned his head and whispered, so quietly Derek wasn’t even sure Laura caught it. “Not your fault,” he said.

Derek’s eyes widened and his jaw clenched, watching John usher Stiles away.

Derek blinked, looking down at the teen in his arms, still sleeping soundly against Derek's shoulder, eyelashes gently resting on rosy cheeks and lips parted just slightly. Stiles had no idea how much of an impact he'd had on Derek. This gawky, mouthy kid didn't know that he'd saved Derek's life that day.

They were almost to Stiles’ house. Derek belatedly thought that he maybe should have called his pack or Scott or _someone_ , but that would’ve required putting Stiles down and Derek wasn’t ready to do that just yet.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard no heartbeats coming from the home, meaning he wouldn’t have to deal with an angry Sheriff. But there was still the issue of getting inside Stiles’ house.

He walked up the steps to the porch and stopped. Well, fuck. He couldn’t just leave Stiles asleep on the porch. He took in a deep breath, sighing in frustration as he started to lower Stiles’ legs to the ground, but then stopped, his nose catching the distinct smell of brass. He breathed deeper, trying to locate the smell.

His eyes zeroed in on the mailbox. He adjusted Stiles in his arms just a bit, pulling him closer to his chest so that his hand could reach out. He felt Stiles begin to stir, head rubbing into Derek’s chest, eyes fluttering, breathing changing, so Derek moved quickly. His fingers felt underneath the rusty mailbox until they closed over the key taped to the underside by its base. He ripped it off and inspected it a moment before opening the door. He eased in, careful not to hit any part of Stiles’ long body against the frame and then turned, pushing the door closed with his foot.

He took a deep breath and looked around. He hadn’t seen the main part of Stiles’ house since he was a teenager, not since Claudia's funeral. It looked mostly the same, though now there were more pictures around. Photos of Stiles growing up, except the Stiles in these new photos looked so much different than the younger version. They looked darker, even when he was smiling.

Derek swallowed the lump in his throat and, prompted by the not so silent murmurings from Stiles’ mouth, he made his way down the hall quietly, carefully, going straight to Stiles’ room. This one hadn’t changed at all since he’d last been here, on the run from Stiles’ own father.

Derek laid Stiles gently on top of his bed, pulled the blankets over him, and the boy settled in, breath evening out again. Derek stared at him, wondering if he remembered Derek the way Derek remembered him. Stiles had been young, he reasoned. He might have forgotten all about it, might not have made the connection.

But no, Derek thought. Stiles was smart. He would’ve put it together.

But it was more than that that made Derek sure Stiles knew exactly who Derek was. Those moments had _affected_ Derek. They’d hit him hard, struck him to his core and stayed with him through everything he’d been through, still came to him in his dreams. To this day, Stiles’ scent hit Derek like a freight train whenever they were together. His voice was the first Derek found when he was keeping an eye on the teens. And his heartbeat was still a comfort, a calming force that kept Derek from going over the edge.

They were still those two boys, just holding each other together when everything was falling apart. They came into each other’s lives every time everything went wrong. Stiles’ mom’s death, the slaughter of Derek’s family, the murder of Derek’s sister and invasion of the supernatural into Stiles’ life.

They might never acknowledge it, but they were both aware of it, Derek was sure.

And then Stiles did something that made Derek _certain_. He rolled over, fingers closing around the sleeve from Derek’s leather jacket that lay beneath him and whispered soft but clear, eyes still closed. “Thank you, Derek.”

Derek smiled affectionately, one of his rare real smiles, and spoke as quietly as Stiles had. “You’re welcome, Stiles.”

And as Derek left the house, relocking the front door and replacing the key, he thought about everything he and Stiles had been through together since Laura’s death. And Derek knew he’d been wrong about Stiles in two ways.

First, Stiles was not fragile. He was tough and strong and resilient. It would take a lot more than a few werewolves and near death experiences to break him.

Second, Stiles was definitely not a quiet kid.


	3. Chapter 3

“Stiles! Stiles, dude, I was calling you all last night. Where the hell have you been? Do you know how worried I was? Isaac said you got attacked by a pair of Alphas and Derek-“ Scott was rushing toward Stiles where he stood at his locker.

“Hello to you, too,” Stiles cut him off, sarcasm heavy in his tone.  He wasn’t in the mood for this. He’d woken up that morning confused, bruised and  _late_.

Stiles shoved his backpack into the locker and pulled out a notebook and his geometry text. He took a deep breath and turned to Scott as he closed his locker. “Yes, I got attacked and yes, Derek saved my ass. End of story.”

“End of story? Are you freaking kidding me? You could’ve died! Why were you even over on that side of town? You were supposed to meet us at the-“

“Look, can we talk later? I’m gonna be late for geometry.”

Scott gave him a confused look. “Geometry? Dude, didn’t you have your geometry exam yesterday? Because I’m pretty sure we have our econ exam right now.”

“Econ-? Ahh, dammit!” Stiles then slammed his head against the locker. “Exams. We have exams today.”  _Shit_.

“Yeah. Didn’t you study?” Scott hedged.

Stiles rounded on him. “No, I didn’t freaking study, Scott. I was too busy running for my life through the woods and hiding in a labyrinth of tunnels underneath the forest. You could say it slipped my mind.”

Scott backed down, shoulders slumping. He raised his eyebrows in that puppy-dog way that only he could. “At least it’s the last day of school?” he said, making it a question.

Stiles deflated, taking a deep breath. “Yeah. Come on, let’s go.” They’d slid into Finstock’s classroom right as the final bell was ringing, earning them a look.

The exam wasn't bad - multiple choice, and Stiles was pro at multiple choice. He spent the almost-hour left over trying to figure out what had happened the night before. He didn’t remember much after he passed out, but he’d pieced together enough. Now he was just trying to figure out what compelled Derek to  _carry_  him home instead of just waking him up.

The bell rang and Stiles jerked up, almost toppling over. He caught his balance and looked around to see students who were scrambling to finish and others who looked like the bell had woken them up. He grabbed his exam and his books and answered Scott’s pointed look with raised eyebrows.

After they’d handed in their exams to a grumpy Finstock, Scott dragged Stiles into the gymnasium. Stiles spent the walk trying to distract Scott.

“Question 37. You put B, right?”

“We had different versions of the exam, Stiles,” Scott said flatly, not falling for it.

“Finstock, he look like he’s gained weight?”

“Really? You’re going there?”

“Allison’s top. Was it new?”

“Yes,” Scott growled out, grabbing Stiles’ left arm and pulling him up into the bleachers. “Now, spill.”

“Ouuuuch. Human, remember?” Stiles said, rubbing his already bruised arm. He tugged his hoodie back into place over his shirt and flannel.

Scott’s eyes pinched together and Stiles saw him try to sniff subtly and fail. He leaned back, but Scott grabbed him by the shoulder and tugged the shirts up on his left side, exposing bruised ribs and stomach.

“Whoa!” Stiles jumped back just a second too late, breaking free of Scott’s grip and shoving the clothes back down. “Dude, you can’t just-“

“Stiles, what the hell happened to you?” Scott’s eyes were wide. All of his body language radiated concern and Stiles knew he was seconds away from wolfing out.

“I – I fell down, okay? When I was running. I just – Okay, let me start from the beginning.” Stiles sighed, and flopped back down unto the bleacher bench, head falling unto his hand. “I was on my way over to Lydia’s after school yesterday-”

“Why were you going over there?” Scott asked.

“Because Jackson’s finally gone and she’s the only one that can translate that text,” Stiles answered in an  _obviously_  tone.

“Oh. But I thought I told you to meet us at the rail station?”

“Yeah, well, I felt my talents could be more useful elsewhere,” Stiles evaded.

“Stiles.”

“Anyway,” he said, ignoring Scott. “I took Maple, over by the Preserve, hoping to avoid traffic and well, that backfired.” Scott raised his eyebrows when Stiles paused. “I noticed I was being followed by this big black SUV, and I turned into the Preserve to try to lose it, but well, that  _also_  backfired because they followed me and ran me off the road.”

“You were being followed by a mysterious vehicle and, knowing that our town is full of killer Alpha werewolves, decided it was a good idea to hide in the  _woods_?” Scott asked incredulously.

Stiles gave Scott his best  _not helping_  face and continued.

Scott didn’t interrupt again, as Stiles told him about how he fell and the conversation that followed. Scott’s eyebrows pinched together when Stiles told him about the twins and hardened into an angry line when Stiles told him that they “wanted” him, whatever that meant.

“When Derek showed up, I was like, shocked. And remember when Isaac showed us that flashbomb thing Derek has them all carrying around?” Scott nodded. “Well, I saw that Derek had one in his hand. They bitched about territory and one of the twins attacked Derek, slicing up his leg. But like, dude didn’t back down. They told him if he didn’t get out of the way they were going to kill him and he just stood there.”

Stiles paused, thinking about that and the conversation that he and Derek had later. Derek was ready to die for him. He thought Stiles was  _pack_.

“Stiles? What happened next?” Scott asked him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, um.” Stiles thought back. “The flashbomb.” He continued the story, telling Scott about the tunnel system and what Derek told him about its history, and how they’d had to wait for Derek’s leg to heal.

He didn’t tell Scott what Derek said about why he saved him. Stiles wasn’t really sure why, he just felt like that was private. And he also wasn’t sure how Scott would react to the pack comment.

After Stiles was done with the story, they were both quiet for a moment. Stiles was tense, leg bouncing up and down and shaking the bleachers. He ran a hand through his not-so-buzzed hair. Hm, he needed to do that soon.

“Why do they want you?” Scott asked suddenly. It was obvious he was freaked out.

Stiles shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious?” Scott looked confused. “I’m awesome!” Scott didn’t look amused. “Look, I don’t know why. But it doesn’t matter, they didn’t get me.”

“But that doesn’t mean they’re gonna stop _trying_!” Scott’s voice rose to a shout.

Stiles just sighed, shoulders slumping and head falling into his hands. His chest was clenching, Scott’s worry starting to bring up fears he’d been refusing to acknowledge. “I know.”

“Stiles. . . what are we gonna do?”

Stiles shrugged. “Nothing. It’s not a big deal.”

“Stiles, you were attacked by Alpha werewolves. You can’t just ignore this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not gonna let you.”

Stiles was about to protest more when the lunch bell rang. He leapt up, almost slipping, arms flying wildly to catch his balance. Scott just laughed and hopped to the floor, waiting while Stiles stumbled down after him. He gave Scott a small shove and they started towards the cafeteria.

“This conversation isn’t over,” Scott warned him. Stiles made a face, but didn’t respond.

When they’d gotten their food and were headed to sit down, Isaac waved them over. Stiles started in the opposite direction, but Scott just rolled his eyes and pulled him back. Stiles huffed but gave Scott a lead-the-way gesture with his tray, who headed over after a longing glance at Allison and Lydia’s table.

Isaac was sitting with Erica and Boyd, and Scott and Stiles plopped down across from them. Stiles hadn’t even picked up his fork when Erica started in on him.

“What the hell are you playing at, Stilinski? Your stupidity almost got Derek killed! Why were you even-“ She was half out of her seat, bracing arms on the table, when Isaac cut her off.

“Erica,” Isaac said evenly. He laid a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back down into the seat. Stiles had drawn back and was glancing back and forth between the betas.

Erica huffed and pursed her lips, but kept quiet. Scott jumped in.

“So, now that we’re all caught up on what happened, what are we going to do about it?” he asked.

“Wait wait wait,” Stiles said. “I’m not caught up.” He was met with a round of scrunched eyebrows. “Why did Derek want us all to meet at the rail station yesterday?”

“You’d know that if you’d shown up,” Erica said icily.

“I had somewhere else to be,” he shot back in the same tone.

“And how did that work out for you?”

“Guys!”                                                                                                                 

Stiles swallowed his reply and gave an apologetic look to Scott. Boyd was smirking.

“Derek wanted to fill you both in about Jackson. He’s not happy about the punk skipping town,” Isaac said, his tone making it obvious he wasn’t losing sleep over it.

“Why did he want to talk to us about it?” Scott asked.

The three betas shared looks; Boyd shifted uncomfortably.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“I’m gonna leave that to Derek. It’s. . . complicated.” Isaac twirled a fork in his fingers as he spoke.

A thought struck Stiles. “Wait. If Derek was supposed to be meeting you all at the rail station last night, what was he doing in the south side of the Preserve? That’s like, nowhere near there.”

Boyd answered this time. “He was looking for something over at the Hale place. On his way back, he caught a whiff of the Alphas and followed it to your Jeep.”

“How’d he know it was – oh.” Stiles cut himself off at the look in Boyd and Erica’s eyes. “Right. Well, speaking of my Jeep, how did it end up in my driveway this morning? Last I remember, it was sitting wide open in the middle of the woods about five miles from my house.”

“Derek called us and sent us out to get it. Made all of us go. At 1am.” Erica didn’t sound too pleased about that fact.

“Right.” Stiles glanced at her warily before turning his attention to Isaac. “Sorry about that. So, when Derek didn’t show up yesterday. . . ?”

“We waited around for him for almost an hour and when he didn’t show, we went over to the mansion to look. Ran in to Peter,” Scott explained.

“Yeah, that’s always an adventure,” Isaac piped in.

“What happened?” Stiles asked.

“What always happens with Peter,” Scott said, rolling his eyes. “He was cryptic, creepy and absolutely no help.”

“Helped us waste nearly three hours,” Boyd said.

Stiles raised his eyebrows in question.

“Don’t ask,” Scott said with a little shake of his head.

Stiles was tempted to ignore Scott’s request, but then he caught an odd little look between his best friend and Isaac. He knew Scott, knew to leave well enough alone, but he catalogued it for a later conversation.

“I have a question,” Boyd said suddenly, looking right at Stiles, who gave a questioning expression. “What do the Alphas want with  _you_?”

“My dashing good looks and charm,” Stiles replied with a wink.

“No, no, he has a point,” Isaac said. “This is the first time they’ve targeted a human.”

“Did they say anything to you before Derek showed up?” Erica asked.

“Well, they expressed an interest in kicking my ass, but that’s pretty much par for the course for the werewolves in my life,” Stiles told her pointedly.

“Did you ever think maybe it’s just you?” she asked snottily.

“Hey,” Scott cut in again. He leaned in and dropped his voice to a soft whisper that Stiles could barely hear. “Watch it with the werewolf talk. We have ears on us.” He jerked his head over his left shoulder and they all glanced back to where Danny sat by himself at the next table, head tilted slightly in their direction.

At the sudden quiet, he turned to glance briefly to find all their eyes on him. He immediately busied himself with his food, head falling down and shoulders hunching up.

Stiles asked a random question about their exams to change the subject and they made almost painful conversation with each other until the end of lunch. Just before the warning bell rang, all four of the werewolves’ phones buzzed at the same time, all with the same message.  _Come to the rail station right after school –Derek._ Stiles frowned, grabbing his tray and standing with the rest of the group to head to their next exams. Was he not invited this time?

Just as he reached his locker though, his phone buzzed.  _Yes, you, too. Actually show up this time._  Stiles quirked a half-smile, grabbed a notebook and pencil and headed to English.

The English exam wasn’t quite the breeze that Econ had been. Twenty short answers and an essay. How could this possibly go wrong?

It took all his will power to focus through the short answer portion, mostly questions about motifs and transcendentalism and Shakespeare. In the rush, he’d forgotten his Adderall this morning, and his mind was trying to pull him in several different directions. When he got to the essay prompt though, something about  _Julius Caesar_ , he lost concentration, his mind automatically jumping to the Latin texts that were really to blame for yesterday’s fiasco.

Every time the Alphas had made a move, they’d left behind something for the pack to find. The first was found on Erica when they’d returned her and Boyd to the front porch of the Hale mansion, sans memories. Using some kind of wolfsbane ink, the Alphas has burned the text into the skin of her forearm.  _Hoc patriumst, potius consuefacere filium sua sponte recte facere quam alieno metu_. It had taken weeks for the marks to completely fade.

The second had been written in blood.  _Fores effregit atque in aedes irruit._  It was on the back door of Isaac’s house, just before the Alphas blew it up. Erica had managed to capture an image of it on her phone before the flames consumed it and the house collapsed.

The last had been just a couple of weeks ago. Lydia got in the way of an attack on Jackson, resulting in a bite to her upper arm, so they’d taken her instead. The Alpha female left Jackson’s memory of the attack, which Stiles secretly thought it was to make him feel guilty, along with a message.  _Quid illi tandem credits fore animi misero quicum illa consuevit prius, qui infelix haud scio an illam misere nunc amat, quum hanc sibi videbit praesens praesenti eripi, abduci ab oculis?_  Thankfully, the Alphas, had returned Lydia the next morning, dropping her on the side of the road just outside of town. She'd been found and taken to the hospital, where she was treated for the same “allergic reaction” as last time. They weren’t sure if the Alphas had known about her immunity or not, but they seemed to have figured it out.

Stiles had spent hours scouring the internet, searching for a way to translate the texts, but he found nothing. It was in the same Archaic Latin as the Argent’s bestiary, which meant Lydia was the only one that could translate it.

Derek had been strict on leaving her out of it after Jackson’s threats, trying to extend an olive branch, get him to cooperate. But now he was gone, so maybe Stiles would make another attempt to talk to her after the meeting tonight. He would avoid Maple St.

Stiles sighed. The key to what the Alphas were after had to be in those messages. They were leaving them for a reason. Or maybe they were just toying with them, trying to distract them from the bigger picture. Either way, they wouldn’t know until they had them translated.

The bell rang and Stiles nearly jumped out of his seat in a flail of legs and arms. _Shit_. He was out of time with no essay.

Except, when he looked down, he saw that he’d been writing through all of his musings. Well, um, that would just have to work. He did a quick scan to make sure he hadn’t written the word  _werewolf_  anywhere and handed it in.

When he and Scott walked into the chemistry classroom, he took a deep breath. One last exam stood between him and summer break. Of course it had to be Harris.

He sat down and was about halfway through his exam when it started with a whisper from behind him. “Stiles.”

Stiles paused, eyes narrowing. Was that Danny’s voice?

“Stiles.” Definitely Danny. He desperately wanted to turn around, but Harris was glaring right at him.

“Hey. Stiiiiles.” Stiles was trying to ignore him and finish his exam, but he couldn’t focus. It was taking all of his concentration to keep from responding to Danny. Harris was looking at him with this expression that was almost begging him to give him a reason to put Stiles in detention.

“Hey, I know you can hear me.” Letting out an angry breath, Stiles closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. What the hell could be so important it couldn’t wait until after their  _last_  exam?

“Dude, please, can we talk?” Danny sounded upset.

Harris finally looked down, shuffling at his papers, but Stiles still didn’t want to risk it.

“Stiles.” How the fuck did Harris not hear him? “Stiles, please.”

“Oh, my God, what?” Stiles snapped, turning, leaking as much annoyance as he could into the whispered words.

“Detention, Mr. Stilinski. There’s no talking during an exam.”

Stiles turned to gape open-mouthed at the teacher, whose grin was showing through his stern expression.

“Wha- No, it was  _Danny_ -“

“I would advise you stop talking before I flunk you for cheating.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, but he bit back his words. He turned to glare at Danny. The dude was definitely on Stiles’ shit list.

And then he raised his hand. “Mr. Harris, it actually was my fault,” Danny said, voice remorseful.

“Well, then, Mr. Mahealani, you can join him in detention. Now everyone, get back to work,” Mr. Harris said, turning his glare to the rest of the students.

Turning back around to throw one last glare at Danny, Stiles’ eyes narrowed as he noticed the quirk in the corner of his lips. Was he-?

You know what? No, forget it. He still had an exam to finish. He exhaled slowly, seething, and then turned his attention back to the chemistry exam.

When the bell rang, Stiles was looking over his answers, praying he didn’t fail so he wouldn’t have to spend another year with the monster at the head of the classroom. He rushed out of the classroom, shooting a text to Derek.  _Detention_.  Then he headed to grab his bag so he wouldn’t have to later and Scott met him at his locker.

“Only you could manage to get detention on the last day of school,” he teased.

“That was not my fault and you know it,” Stiles said, gesturing with his arm, pointer finger out.

Scott laughed. “Yeah, I do. Wonder what’s up with Danny.”

“I don’t know, but dude’s pissing me off. I think he got me detention on purpose,” Stiles told him, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Scott’s eyebrows rose at that, but Stiles continued before he could ask. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll come by the after detention.”

He ran into Erica on the way back to Harris’ classroom. Well, actually, she ran into him. Hard. He stumbled back but managed not to fall and gave her a scowl in response to her sweet smile.

When Stiles walked back into the classroom, he took a seat in the very back as Mr. Harris watched him with amused eyes. Danny walked in and looked around a moment before walking over to take the seat right next to Stiles, who just glared at him and scooted his chair as far over as possible.

“Boys, welcome to your final detention of sophomore year. It’s unfortunate that we have to spend the first hour of your summer vacation sitting in here, but maybe this will teach you not to talk during an exam,” Mr. Harris told them, voice smooth and flat.

Stiles’ face scrunched up and he grumbled nonsensically for a moment before dropping his head onto his forearms, looking out the window. Maybe he would just take a nap.

“Jackson came to see me just before he left,” Danny said quietly from next to him after a while.

Stiles ignored him, determined not to respond.

“He told me everything.”

Stiles’ head twitched slightly in Danny’s direction, eyes narrowing. Everything?

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Werewolves, kanimas, hunters. All of it.”

Stiles snapped up, staring open-mouthed at Danny. “I- um. I mean, what?”

“C’mon, I know you know. I’d already figured out some of it just from overhearing you in chemistry. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” Stiles opened his mouth to deny, then caught the look in Danny’s eyes. His anger at Danny evaporated; it wasn’t fair that Jackson had just dropped this on him and left.

He swallowed. “Why me?” he asked, voice low.

“Jackson said you’re normal. And I could kind of use normal right now,” Danny told him, eyes looking down.

“You know, it’s sad that in the current state of my life,  _I’m_  the normal one,” Stiles mused with a smirk. Danny gave him a flat stare. “Okay, not funny. So, um, what’d you want to talk about?”

Danny looked back down, sighing. “How do you deal with all this?” he asked.

Stiles drew back with an exhale that ended in a little laugh. “Um, I just do? I don’t know, man, you find out your best friend’s a werewolf and you gotta kind of just roll with it.”

Danny gave him a weird look. “How did you find out?” he asked.

Stiles thought back to that day. “Well, actually,  _I_  told  _him_.” Danny looked up, a confused expression on his face. “Long story. Not important. You just, you have to get over thinking you know anything about anything and you’ll do just fine.”

“That’s pretty much how I feel right now.”

Stiles smiled, arms open. “See, you’re already off to a great start.”

Danny quirked a small smile before his face fell again. “He’s not coming back.”

“Who’s not coming back?” Stiles asked, caught off guard by the change in subject.

“Jackson. He’s planning to ditch his parents and take off.”

“Oh. Well, I mean, can you blame him?” Stiles asked. Danny’s head snapped up to look at Stiles, eyebrows scrunched. His voice dropped low and he threw a glance at Harris to make sure he was still occupied. “Dude killed, like, a lot of people. And I know it wasn’t really him, but that’s a lot of guilt to have to keep reliving, walking around the same town every day, seeing their families,” Stiles explained.

“That doesn’t mean he had to just leave!” Danny snapped. Mr. Harris looked up, raising eyebrows at the boys. He gave a stern look in both their directions, then returned to the exams he was grading.

When Stiles spoke again, it was quieter. “I think he needed to, Danny. Maybe he’ll come back once he’s sorted through his shit.” Hopefully  _not_ , but it seemed like Danny needed to hear this.

Danny met his eyes, and then nodded.

“But I don’t get it. Why did he tell you now?” Stiles asked. 

“He said it was to protect me, I guess. Said knowing was safer than not knowing what was going on,” Danny told him.

Stiles snorted, causing Danny to look confused. “Dude, I spent last night running and hiding from Alpha werewolves. Safer is not exactly how I would describe my experiences.”

Danny quirked an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

“Wha-? I – it wasn’t  _my_  fault! I wasn’t doing anything, I was just driving down the road!” Stiles sputtered out.

“Sure,” Danny responded. “Then why were they after you?”

Stiles looked down, playing with his fingernails. “I – I don’t know.”

“Oh.” He seemed to catch the tone in Stiles’ words and grew quiet.

They sat like that for a little while. Stiles was trying to swallow down the fear and uncertainty that was clawing its way up his throat. He was also kind of pissed at Jackson. How could he drag his best friend into this, and then just leave him defenseless?

Unless he actually believed it would keep Danny safer; then he was just a dumbass. At least he and Scott had each other. Danny had no one to help him deal with this.

They must have sat in silence longer than Stiles realized because suddenly Mr. Harris was dismissing them with a snide comment and a fake smile and they were heading out the door. When they reached the front doors, Stiles paused, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder.

“Look, I know we’re not like, friends or anything, but if you ever want to talk about this stuff or whatever, just call me.” Danny should still have his number from when they were lab partners.

Danny looked at him a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

At that, they opened the doors and headed towards their respective vehicles. Except Stiles’ Jeep wasn’t there. In its place was a sleek black Camaro with a certain Henley-clad Alpha leaning against the hood.

Stiles stormed over, throwing arms in the air. “Dude, what the fuck? Where’s my Jeep?”

“I had Boyd drop it off at your house,” Derek told him flatly.

“What? How did he even-” Stiles cut himself off, remembering Erica’s shove in the hallway. He pursed his lips, exhaling sharply out his nose. “Really? Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?”

“Stiles, there is a pack of Alpha werewolves after you and we don’t know why or if they’ll try again. So, no, I don’t.” Derek pushed off from the car and walked around to the driver’s door.

Stiles just stood there. “Derek, you can’t just – it’s not like you can follow me everywhere.”

Derek raised his eyebrows at that in what Stiles liked to call his “bitchface.” “Get in the car, Stiles.” He threw his eyes down to indicate the car as he pulled open the car door and then got in.

Stiles briefly considered just walking home to prove a point, but Derek would probably just follow him and manhandle him into the car. He sighed and stalked forward, grumbling as he threw himself down into the passenger seat.

“Happy?” Stiles snarked.

Derek didn’t respond, giving him a side-eye and Stiles would’ve sworn he saw a twitch of Derek’s lips as he started the car and whipped out of the parking lot.

 


End file.
